Articles of Faith
by millionlittlepapercuts
Summary: Magnus and Alec tried to work it out. "And anyway—I think Max would be more disappointed if he found out that his brother didn't stay true to himself." In which my attempt at writing a short, fluffy oneshot of Magnus comforting Alec turned into a 6K words monster. Set during CoG.


I just finished CoG earlier this week and I know I'm late, I'm considered a mundane, etc. etc, but it hit me with so much feels it's overwhelming I actually have to sit there for a minute and try to calm down and I just had to write something. I swear I intended this to be a short, fluffy oneshot of Magnus comforting Alec, and then it turned into a monster and I… don't even know anymore.

Also, I'm supposed to be studying. The books are judging me. I can feel them whispering about. But instead I wrote this; I think it's crystal clear how unwilling I am to study. Ugh. Also, English is not my first language and I'm pretty sure I wrote half of this monstrous thing half-asleep, but I'm always up to con-crit so feel free to ravish my ask box. It's lonely.

I know. I'm rambling. I'm sorry. I know. I'm sorry.

I do not own The Mortal Instruments. We all know who these painful, heartwrenching book series belonged to. ;)

Anyway, I stole some of the dialogues straight from the book. Title also taken from chapter 16 of City of Glass because I'm not creative. So yeah. Enjoy?

* * *

It did not rain on Max's funeral, but the sky was dark and clouded; only the slightest hint of moonlight could get through that thick layers of cloud, if only barely. Alicante was very quiet at night, very contrast to New York's loud, crazy nightlife. There weren't streetlamps illuminating every corner of the street, there weren't people striding on the street at night, laughing and talking to their friends, choosing which club to go, picking pretty girls or boys to take home. No; it was very quiet and still in Alicanted. He found he missed New York, which was quite surprising.

The air was cold as he breathed in. The window was wide open, and he let the cool air blew through him. It made him shiver. Normally, he would step away from the window and lock it, close the curtains and hide underneath the blanket with at least two layers of clothing and submit to the darkness, but this time he wouldn't budge. Instead he gripped the windowsill tight—probably a little too tight that his knuckles were slowly turning white—and let his mind wander.

Alec thought about many things. He was a bit of an observant, though he kept most of his observations to himself. He wasn't like Jace, who could mindlessly voice whatever was on his mind with no care in the world. Jace always knew what to say, even at the most awkward time. The night Max died was the first time Alec had seen Jace totally speechless, totally at loss of what to say. He looked so lost, like he didn't even know what he was doing. _Max_. His chest tightened at the thought of Max. He remembered the night Max died—the night that fucking Sebastian murdered him _and_ nearly cracked Isabelle's skull open in the process, too—how the little boy clutched his Japanese comic book close to his chest and ask him, _is it normal for people to climb the demon tower, like for any reason?_

Aline had looked like she almost rolled her eyes, but only refrained because Max was only a little kid, and told him it was illegal to do that. Isabelle insisted he was probably dreaming it. And Alec, sensing a possible meltdown, had ushered him to bed.

He hadn't known it was the last time he would see Max alive.

He'd thought it would be safest to leave them with Sebastian. After all, the boy had been nothing but kind to all of them. He was even nice to Jace, who had made it clear that he couldn't trust him. He'd thought Isabelle and Max would be fine. He'd never thought Sebastian would be the one who ended Max's life.

It must be Sebastian that Max had seen climbing the tower.

Max had never told lies before. Max was a lot like him, in a way—just like him, he was neither quiet nor talkative; he was in between. He was rubbish at lying. And he really wasn't good at expressing his feelings. He remembered the one time Max told him he wished he could just _pull_ his feelings out and set them on the table because he didn't know how to word them (_Maryse and Robert were fighting, again, and Max had crawled to his bed, his glasses perched atop of his nose and he was frowning, trying to tell him how he wished Mom and Dad would stop. There were a lot of things Alec knew Max wanted to say, but he was struggling with the words. He ended up sighing in frustration, and with his shoulder slumped he told Alec he just wanted to them to be happy again. It took him a moment to realize that when Max said that, he'd meant them—all of them, not only just Maryse and Robert. That felt like an eternity ago_).

Alec remembered how it felt like to be the only child around a handful of adults. He remembered how desperate he was to get his father's attention, how bad he wanted to fit in, how he hated being treated like a child, until one day he decided to sneak out of Institute and went on a demon hunt, by himself, just to prove his father wrong, that he wouldn't go running and hide in the dumpster once he sighted a demon. He nearly gotten himself killed during the hunt, but that was a different story altogether. He, of all people, should know how Max felt.

And yet.

The Lightwood's firstborn took a shaky breathe.

Max was dead.

_Max…was dead_.

It felt unreal, seeing Max laying there, his body cold and his eyes closed, clutched in his mother's arms while Isabelle _wailed_ in the background, her black hair a mess and eyes bloodshot. Alec couldn't help but recall a memory from when they were about nine or ten, of Isabelle flipping her shoulder-length hair and told them that girls like her didn't cry. Crying was for losers. Isabelle did not cry when she broke her wrist on her first hunt—or, rather, she tried hard not to cry. But Isabelle proved herself true to her words; she didn't shed a single tear. This was the first time Alec had seen Isabelle cry since, well, he couldn't even remember the last time she cried. Seeing her cry was like having a tidal wave crashed on him. The realization hit him so hard he found it hard to breathe. Max was dead. He was _murdered_.

Alec should have stayed. He should have listened to Jace when he told him there was something with Sebastian, something that couldn't be good. Alec just brushed it off as jealousy. After all, Sebastian did walk Clary home, after that big fight between Clary and Jace, which ended with a hole on a window.

But regret always came last. And regret always meant that it was too late. It would be silly to wish for a time machine. Alec knew that time couldn't be reversed. Nobody could turn back in time, not even the greatest of warlock. But if he could, Alec would be more than willing to spare his life for Max's. God, he would.

Why did it have to be Max? Max was not even ten yet. For God's sakes, he still read manga novels! He probably couldn't differentiate an Edoilon demon and a Ravener. He was still innocent; pure as a piece of paper, still blind to the whole Shadowhunter business, and was scared of the dark. He still had to stand on his tiptoes to switch on the lights. Hate and rage began to fill him. Alec's hands were now at his sides, closing into fists. He wanted to punch something, throw something—anything. Jace would've created a hole in the wall. But he decided against it.

Instead, he closed the window and plopped himself down on the bed, pondering on things he wasn't sure anyone would know how to answer.

If he pressed his ear to the wall, he could hear Isabelle sobbing quietly. She refused to talk to anyone. She thought they all blamed her. She didn't respond when Alec knocked on her door, didn't even bother to reply when Jace banged her door—but she had let that vampire friend of Clary's in.

Alec had thought Isabelle would throw him out within five minutes, but he had stayed in Isabelle's room for more than an hour now. If Alec hadn't known Simon, he would probably have dragged him out by now. But Simon was a nice guy—he could see it in his eyes, despite his sarcastic remarks, which rivaled Jace's, despite him being a _Downworlder_. He would be good for Izzy. Thinking of Simon took him back to that time where he took Simon to the Inquisitor, how easy "I think Magnus really likes you" rolled off his tongue like it was normal for a man to angst over another man. When Isabelle recited the embarrassing Fearless rune incident, Alec had been scared of what the others would think. He knew Clary and Isabelle were okay with him being gay, but he wasn't sure of what Simon would think.

Alec didn't expect him to just accept the fact as easy as accepting that Alec's eyes were blue. Instead there he was, giving an advice to a Shadowhunter about possibly dating a Warlock, as ridiculous as it sounded.

_Magnus. _

The name danced around his head like a song on repeat. That stupid, stupid Warlock—his first kiss, his first everything. The second he stepped in his room, after Jace and Clary took off to do something, Alec had longed for Magnus. He wanted to send a fire message, ask him if he was available—if he could just drop by, because for some reasons he didn't know (he wasn't even sure if he wanted to know), he craved for him. And then he had felt _disgusted_ at himself for even thinking about him, in the midst of everything. Max wouldn't like it.

Would Max have accepted it?

Max looked up to him as a role model. What Max would think?

What Max would think of his brother loving another man? A _Downworlder_?

The day they left for Idris, the day Magnus showed up at the Institute wearing that stupid, stupid rainbow-colored pants, complaining constantly about not being paid for doing such exhausting magic, acting as if nothing happened, Max tugged on his sleeve, and with wonder in his eyes, he inquired of Magnus. _"Is that a real warlock?"_ He peered out of his glasses in awe, delighted and wary at the same time, as if there was such a thing as a fake warlock. And if there was, his mom wouldn't possibly invite him to the Institute to open the Portal. Alec had nodded, not really in the mood to talk about Magnus, but couldn't really hide his smile.

Max frowned. "Izzy said warlocks are bad. He doesn't look bad. He looks so…_shiny_." Alec almost laughed. He couldn't blame him; wearing those tight colorful pants, with dyed hair and all, Magnus didn't appear threatening, at all.

(And of course, a several horrible moments later, demons sprung out of the Portal, shrieking and _smelling bad_)

Alec rested his back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest, setting his jaw on his knees. His eyes were staring at nothing in particular, but he was thinking. Would Max have expected it? He had a feeling Magnus and Max, if they ever met, would get along just fine. He saw Magnus as the type who was fond of children, in a way. Magnus would be able to make Max laugh, probably better than Jace did. Magnus would read those manga novels with him, probably shower him with glitter and sparkle, and Max would flinch away, running away from his glitter attack, and he would—

Alec _had_ to stop right there, because at this point he would burst out crying like pathetic mundane at any time. Max wouldn't like seeing him cry. He wouldn't. Crying wouldn't bring him back. And yet, Alec couldn't stop the tear from rolling down his cheeks. He lifted his hand, wiping his tears away, willing them to stop. They couldn't. They just kept surfing down, wetting his sleeves. He banged his head to the wall behind him, hard enough to crack his skull.

Max was gone.

They used to be so close, the four of them. Sometimes, after training sessions with Jace and Isabelle, they would all pile into Max's room, his protests ignored as the little boy scrambled to his feet, pulling his nose out of a book. Isabelle would sit on his bed, would retrieve a deck of cards from his desk and they would play. Isabelle would pretend to give them a Tarot reading, despite not knowing how, or what a single card meant, and Jace would laugh, his whole face lit up, and Alec would feel normal—like they were mundane siblings just hanging out in their little brother's room, lazying in the afternoon. They had stopped doing that since Alec turned eighteen and was considered a proper adult, no longer needing his mom or dad to accompany them during hunts. Isabelle had been so thrilled, so hyped about going on a hunt, only the three of them: Jace, Alec, and her. Little did they know back in the Institute, in his too-big room, Max was already asleep on his bed, lonely, glasses askew, hands fisted in his chest and cards scattered all over his bed. They hadn't spent much time together since then.

And back in Idris, Alec was busied with the meeting and Jace-and-Clary and Magnus and his own problem to spare a minute just to ask Max how his day was.

And now Max was gone and there was nothing else he could do other than mourn. The grief and guilt were nagging at the back of his head, clawing at his heart. Max was gone and all that was left was the memories. He was burned to ashes and was buried five feet underground and Alec had never felt so cold and alone in his life before.

* * *

That night, he didn't get a blink of sleep. He couldn't sleep, because every time he closed his eyes, he would see Max behind his eyelids and he just needed to think of anything that's not Max right now (because every time he thought of Max, that irresistible urge to punch a wall or plan a suicide mission to find Sebastian and tear him from limbs to limbs always came—and the more he thought about it, the more hard it became to resist and he knew the last thing the Clave needed was Maryse and Robert shrilling about their missing son). He didn't wake up because he didn't sleep. He just lay on his bed for the longest of time, his eyes strained on the ceiling, trying not to think about that one time he played hide-and-seek with Max and Isabelle and Jace and wondered if he'd ever felt that happy again. The sun glaring down at him informed it was morning already and he got up, tired and restless. He wanted to go back to bed and just lay there doing nothing, but he forced himself up and changed anyway.

Today was going to be a long day.

He opened the door the same time Isabelle and Simon got out of her room. If vampires could blush, Alec would've bet Simon did. Isabelle had her hair pulled up in a sleek ponytail, neat and striking and gorgeous, geared up in black with her whip coiled at her side. Isabelle acknowledged him, gripped Simon's wrist and smiled at him, the sort of tired smile that didn't suit her.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said, obviously trying to sound as cheery as possible. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," Alec muttered.

"Don't look so sad! I'm sure you'll look fabulous in Magnus' eyes," Isabelle cooed, her smile suggestive. Alec groaned, rubbing at his face with both his hands in agitation. He didn't need Isabelle talking about Magnus at such ungodly hour. Though, he had to admit, he was glad to see Isabelle back to her usual teasing self. Well, a part of her, anyway. But it was good enough.

"Look, just tell me what you want, so I can go downstairs and have some coffee," Alec said. "A war is coming and I'm sure at this state I would fall asleep at any minute."

Isabelle wanted to ask if he didn't get any sleep at night, but because she was Isabelle Lightwood and Isabelle Lightwood didn't ask stupid question, she recoiled. It was obvious anyway; Alec had bags under his eyes. "Simon and I are going to visit Clary," she told him, tugging Simon's sleeve. She'd just realized she hadn't let go of Simon's hand. She only held on him tighter.

Alec stared at her hand. He met Simon's eyes. The look on his face read, _Look, I don't know if you're screwing my baby sister or not, but if you hurt her, well, I'm sure Isabelle will be able to give you the beating of your life, but a friendly reminder than Jace and I are the finest warrior in our generation—_at least, that was what Simon got out of it, anyway. "Okay," Alec said. "Where is Jace?"

Isabelle shrugged. Simon answered for her, "I don't think he came home last night. He's probably still at Clary's." Simon held Alec's gaze. _I wouldn't dare to. _

Alec paused. "He's spending the night at Clary's?"

Isabelle shrugged again. "A war is about to come and from what I gathered, Valentine's planning some pretty horrible shit. We're all likely to die or enslaved by the end of the day. I couldn't really blame Jace for wanting to spend it with the girl of his dreams." Isabelle said it so easy, like she was just reporting her shopping trip.

"Okay," Alec said, because he didn't know what else to say. "Mom and Dad home yet?"

"They'd probably be home in a few minutes," Isabelle said. "Anyway, we should get going."

"Yeah, you should," Alec nodded and stepped aside. Isabelle met his eyes, and for a split second he thought he saw her eyes blazed with vulnerability. It was comforting to know that he wasn't the only feeling fragile and broken. He pulled her into a hug and his baby sister buried her head on his shoulder, her body shaking but not crying. Isabelle had grown into such a beautiful, breathtaking woman that shone brighter than Alec could ever be; Alec sometimes forgot that she was his baby sister. When did she grow up so fast? It seemed like it was just yesterday Robert gifted her with a whip on her twelfth birthday—the whip which curled around her slender wrist like a set of golden bracelet.

Simon stood there, watching as Isabelle pull away. He wished his phone would work in Alicante, because all of sudden he was overwhelmed with the want to call Rebecca and his mom. He hadn't realized he missed them this much.

Isabelle pulled away. "Now you're just being sappy," she said.

Alec laughed—an honest laugh which caused his entire face to lit up, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. He headed towards the stairs, Isabelle in tow, and after a startling moment, Simon followed behind her.

When Isabelle reached for Simon's hands, Alec pretended he didn't see anything.

* * *

Coffee was very much needed.

Alicante was nothing like New York, but Alec was just glad they had sachets of instant coffee inside the cabinet. He wished they have a coffee maker, but it was still coffee, so he wasn't complaining.

"If you want coffee, you know I can always summon one from Starbucks with a snap of my hand."

The voice nearly made him spill his coffee—which, well, he did let of his grip on the cup, and the liquid should be a mess on the floor, but it paused midair. Alec stared at it, unimpressed. Magnus snapped his hand and it was back on the counter, steaming. Alec peered inside the cup, noticing it wasn't the same coffee he'd brewed for himself earlier. It was the one from Starbucks. Whatever—coffee was still coffee. He took a sip of it, grateful that with Magnus he didn't have to say anything; the warlock just _got_ him.

"You're not going to question how I got in?" Magnus had the nerve to look amused. Alec contemplated throwing his steaming coffee at him, but Magnus could send it flying back at him with a flick of his wrist, so he didn't.

"If not through Portal, you probably stroll inside like you own this house," Alec said. Magnus put a hand on his chin in mock thinking.

"You're right," Magnus agreed. "The door wasn't locked, so I came in."

"Why?" Alec asked, and with a start he realized his parents could come home in any minute. He mentally cursed. The last thing he needed was for them to freak out over him being alone with a warlock. Shit.

"Don't worry about your parents," Magnus said with a grim voice. Sometimes Alec wondered if he was, too, secretly a seer. "I stopped the time."

"You can stop the time?" Alec looked perplexed.

"Well, it takes a lot of energy, but you won't come out and I can't approach you with your parents present," Magnus shrugged like stopping time wasn't a big deal. "This is the only way. And I really want to see you before I go."

Alec blinked. "Where—are you not joining the war?"

"I'm hurt. Do you really think I would run away from the war like a coward?"

Alec corrected himself hastily. "I'm not calling you a coward. I just—are you?"

Magnus laughed. "I'm going back to Brooklyn to heal Jocelyn. I promised Clary—she's a nice girl."

"Oh."

"And I'm coming back," Magnus assured him. "As much as I hate the Clave, I wouldn't even think to flee from the war. Valentine is our enemy." Something flashed in his eyes when he said Valentine's name. Unfortunately Alec wasn't as good as reading people's face as Magnus; he couldn't guess what was on his mind. Magnus turned his cat eyes at him and held their gaze. Alec felt incapable of saying anything—he couldn't even breathe. There was something about the way Magnus looked at him that frightened him. "I just want to say goodbye," Magnus said, his smile going small and intimate, like it was only for him, his eyes soft.

Alec remained where he was. Magnus took a step a closer, then another, another, and then he was right in front of him, an few inches taller, those green-gold eyes strained on his azure ones. Alec didn't even _dare_ to breathe.

"Alec," Magnus looked like he was about to purr, and his voice sent a chill down his spine. His hands went up to cup his face and he brought their lips together. With a surprised jerk, Alec's hand clutched Magnus' hips, one hand still holding up his cup between their bodies. The angle was sort of awkward because Magnus was trying to get as close as possible to him without crushing the half-empty cup, but soon enough he'd given up trying; with an annoyed snap, he sent the cup away and scooped him up on the counter, his breathing fast on his face.

"Where did you send the cup away?" Alec asked as Magnus peppered his neck with kisses, his hands tangled in unbelievably soft hair.

"Egypt," Magnus said, and he stopped kissing his neck. Alec looked down at him, bewildered. His eyebrows shot up.

"Really?" Alec asked.

Magnus laughed. "You're too adorable sometimes it's _unbelievable_."

Alec frowned, but Magnus leaned down and kissed his frown away. Alec closed his eyes and let himself drown in the feel of Magnus' lips on his, his muscles hard. He locked his ankles around Magnus' hips and pulled him closer, flush against him, winding his arms around his body. Magnus hands found the hem of his black T-shirt and he pushed it up, his hands warm against his skin and Alec jolted, causing his head to connect harshly with the cabinet above him.

"Ow," he said.

Magnus laughed. "Easy, there," he said, ruffling his hair fondly. Alec felt his cheeks reddened; his whole body warm and his nerves on fire.

"How long can you keep this up? The whole time-stopping thing, I mean." The look on Alec's face was wondrous as he stared up at him.

Magnus shrugged. "I may be the High Warlock of Brooklyn, but I'm not the strongest—so, ten minutes or so?"

"God, it's too brief," Alec let out a sound that came close to a whine's territory. Magnus couldn't help but chuckle. He slowly pushed himself off Alec, his smirk smug.

"Since when are you so eager to make out with me, Nephilim?" Magnus teased. Alec blushed, getting off the counter and pretending to brush off the dust from his back.

"I'm not eager, I just—"

Alec broke off, sighing. He just _what_? He didn't know what he felt; he was having a lot of emotions. Pain, rage, sadness, happiness, confusion, hurt, betrayal, anger: all at once. Alec pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked at his bare feet. Max had just died—_murdered_, Isabelle was canoodling with Simon and she seemed to like him a lot and this was _so _going to piss his parents off, Jace was Clary's brother and he spent the night at hers, only God knew what they did, he was not in love with Jace because the thought of Jace and Clary sleeping together didn't hurt him the way it should a few weeks ago, and Magnus was standing in his kitchen and they had just made out and this would rage his parents more than Isabelle dating a Downworlder and a war was coming and there would only be two options left at the end of the day: death or enslaved.

Yeah, he was having a lot of feelings.

He glanced at the stilled clock. _If Magnus could stop time_, Alec thought, eyeing Magnus curiously, _would he be able to go back in time? _No; he'd heard it was nearly impossible, he knew it was impossible, but he might as well ask. Nothing could hurt. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. "Magnus," he called, and the Warlock looked at him with a questioning look on his face.

"Yes?"

"Can you turn back time?"

The question was unexpected. The surprised look on Magnus' face was priceless as he stared back at Alec, his blue eyes glinting with hope. Magnus hoped he could say yes, but turning back in time was something out of his reach. It pained him to shake his head and watched as Alec's face fell.

"I'm sorry," he said, even though he knew all too well that it was no one's fault. No one's but Sebastian's, he thought bitterly, or the fake Sebastian, whatever. "Warlocks had limits too, you know," he added.

"I know," Alec waved his hands around. "Sorry. I know it's impossible, I shouldn't have asked."

Magnus shook his head. He knew what this was all about; it's about Max and his tragic death. Little did he know that after the funeral had ended, after Maryse and Robert had taken off for the meeting with Luke and the others, Magnus had visited the little boy's grave and spared minutes just staring at the name and words engraved on the hard stone: _Ave atque vale._ He put his hands of Alec's shoulders and told him, "It wasn't your fault," because Alec needed to know that it _wasn't_.

Alec's head shot up, and for a moment all Magnus could see in his eyes was rage. "Don't tell me that," Alec bit out, "I've had enough of people telling me that Max's death wasn't my fault when it was my fault entirely."

"It's not like you knew Sebastian was a spy—"

"I _should've_ known! Jace told me something was off with him, and I didn't believe him. Jace had never been wrong before."

Magnus grimaced at the mention of the boy's name. If Alec noticed, he didn't say anything. "Even if you'd chosen to believe him, it didn't change anything. Sebastian could've killed you."

"I'd rather die," Alec said.

"And how do you think Max would feel about it?" _How do you think _I_ would feel about it? _Alec stared at him, his mouth open as if to say something, but nothing came out. "The boy looks up to you. He sees you as a role model. He idolizes you. Your death—it would destroy him."

"I don't think he would still look up at me as a role model if he found out what a disgusting little piece of shit I am." Alec recalled Sebastian's words from yesterday. _I think we all know what's wrong with you. They shouldn't let your kind in the Clave. You're disgusting. _

Magnus looked ashen. "Don't say that—"

"You don't know how I feel, Magnus. You don't understand. Max looks up at me as a role model and can you imagine how disappointed he'll be if he found out that his brother is _gay_? You've lived for eight hundred years and this whole gay thing is probably not a big deal for you, but it is for me, Magnus. It is. And it scares me. More than—more than _spiders_ do," Alec buried his face in his hands, frustrated. "See, Jace was right. I never loved him—I thought I did, but I only liked him because he was safe. Because I know it's never going to work between Jace and I. I'll have an excuse to spend the rest of my probably short life pining. But then I met you—"

Alec broke off again, his gaze boring into Magnus'—there was something in his eyes that gone too fast for Magnus to identify. "I met you and—I don't know—_all hell breaks loose_!"

"Okay," Magnus said.

Alec wished the same thing Max did—he wished he could just rip his feelings out and set them on the counter for Magnus to see. "Look, I don't know how to say it but—you make me feel wanted, okay? You make me feel like—feel like I have a chance, and when I'm with you it's like I forget about my homophobic parents—"

"You didn't know if they were homophobes," Magnus scowled.

Alec opted to ignore him. "I forget about Jace and Clary and Valentine and the war and the possibility of us being enslaved by the end of the day—and you know what? Nothing scares me more than the thought of losing you. It hurts me to think about it. It hurts me to think about you, because you, Magnus, are every shade of _wonderful_ and I, Alexander Lightwood, am every shade of _coward_ and I'm too far shoved in the closet that I can't even see the door!"

Magnus cleared his throat. "That's—the longest thing you'd ever said to me."

"You could do better than me, Magnus," Alec sighed tiredly.

Magnus stared at him for a long moment. The silence in the air was so thick Alec thought a knife could tear it apart. "You know, I think sometimes you seem to forget that when I was around your age—which is a long, long time ago—I was scared shitless too. My father tried to drown me, remember? But anyway, that's not the point," Magnus continued before Alec could say anything, "My grandmother used to tell me this great quote—that if you're in love, if you're so in love with someone it hurts to even think about it, you can make miracles happen. Now I'm magic; I'm the High Warlock of Brooklyn, blah blah, but love is beyond my power. I can't magick Jace to like you—"

Alec groaned.

"—but love alone, is a powerful magic." Magnus finished.

Alec looked skeptical. "Why are you telling me this?"

"It's a great quote, just thought I'd share it to the world," Magnus shrugged, nonchalant.

"_Magnus_."

The warlock looked down at his wristwatch. It had started ticking again. "Well, the magic's worn off. I should probably go before your parents come home."

"Wait, Magnus—"

"I can't force you into things, Alec. I won't. But it hurts me too, when you only allow me to love you behind closed doors," Magnus pushed his sleeve down. He was looking at Alec, his expression unreadable.

Alec could hear footsteps approaching. He turned at Magnus, who clicked his tongue and mumbled, "Time's up," like they were in a game, "I think it's my cue to leave."

"_Alec! Isabelle!" _

Alec heard his mom calling. Hastily, he reached for Magnus and kissed him hard on the mouth. Magnus stood frozen, but when Alec pulled away, there was the barest hint of smile on his face. Alec's hand shot out and he gripped Magnus' wrist, his gaze deathly. "Come back as fast as you can." And then he let go.

Magnus had the nerve to look _entertained_. Alec stepped away from him.

"I'll always come back for you," he raised his hand, smirking. "And anyway—I think Max would be more disappointed if he found out that his brother didn't stay true to himself."

"What do you—"

Magnus was gone.

* * *

Clary Fray (Alec refused to acknowledge her as Valentine's daughter—blood may make you related, but blood didn't make you family) was a lot of things; she was an enigma, a jolt of surprise, an experiment, a flat-chested midget (according to Isabelle), an amazing painter, but she was not a liar. Really. With those eyes, how could anyone think of her as a liar?

But then again, Sebastian had been nothing but sweet, and smiles and delicate movements. And then he'd killed Max.

"She's not lying," Alec said, his voice clear and strong, purposeful. Everyone needed to know—Clary wasn't a liar. He might hate her guts then, but she was nothing if not sweet. Shadowhunters from all over the world turned to look at him, and Alec would usually shy away from this much attention, but this time he held this chin high, together with his family—Isabelle and Simon, Magnus at his side, Robert and Maryse—they formed a little determined-looking knot by the front door. "I've seen her create runes before. She used it on me. It worked." It worked way too perfectly, even, he thought.

Malachi had begged to differ, but Alec could see doubt creeping into his eyes. To his surprise, in a crisp voice, Maryse spoke up, "Why would my son lie about something like this, when something could be easily discovered? Give the girl a stele and let her create a rune." There was something in his mom's voice—pride, Alec recognized, as she said 'my son.' She never spoke about him like that before. Alec felt a smile creeping in as Patrick Penhallow stepped forward, lending his stele for Clary to borrow. She took it gracefully and her green eyes began scanning the crowd, looking for something, anything. Her eyes turned soft, as if she was recalling a sweet memory (Jace, Alec thought) and she closed her eyes, touching the stele to the skin of her wrist, and began drawing. She drew blindly—completely trusting herself to the stele, and once she was done, she set the stele aside and looked at the crowd.

And then Clary turned into Magnus.

Alec blinked. Wait, what? He rubbed at his eyes; sure that he was probably hallucinating (too much caffeine wasn't a good idea, after all). He glanced at his side. Magnus was still standing beside him, though he looked more than a little amused, and then back at Clary—or rather, back at where Clary should have been. Because instead of a redheaded girl with freckles across her nose, stood there was now Magnus Bane.

Had the rune gone wrong?

But then he heard Luke murmuring Jocelyn's name, his mom and dad looking at each other and back at Clary in awe, and Amatis—Luke's sister—ran forward, Stephen Herondale's name on her lips.

He got it then.

The rune made people see their true love.

He kept staring at Magnus until he vanished and turned back into Clary.

He glanced at his side. The real Magnus didn't vanish. He was still there. Alec fought the urge to hold his hand. Clary was saying something, her voice soft but insistent, up there in the dais, and every eye was focused on her, but all Alec could see was Magnus.

"Please," Clary was saying, "please let me Mark you."

The room fell silent.

* * *

The Clave had decided—they'd let Clary Mark them.

There would be no surrender after all.

* * *

_Really_, Magnus thought, _did they have to look that surprised?_ He watched in veiled amusement as Jocelyn drew the Alliance rune on Luke's hand, her fingers slightly shaking, and wondered when they would stop dancing around each other and get their shit together already. He kept a straight face as Luke pulled his hand from Jocelyn's grip, albeit a little reluctantly. He didn't burn, die, go mad, or strip and run around naked like Meliorn had said. Luke was still Luke. Magnus resisted the urge to smirk at the knight. Clary said something about him going out with Isabelle. The vampire friend of Clary's—what was his name? Simon—said something about a break-up and after that, he didn't pay attention anymore. He observed the crowd for Alec. He spotted him talking to Isabelle, his parents at his side, arms folded. Magnus frowned. Well, maybe he'd have to fight alone today. If he wasn't partnering off with Alec, he wouldn't partner with anyone.

Clary was thanking him for healing his mother, and then she was mad at him for not telling him about Simon; girls and their mood-swing. He wanted to roll his eyes. "Like you never do anything stupid because you have feelings," Clary said. "Where's Alec, anyway? Why aren't you off choosing him as your partner?"

Magnus tried to hide his wince. "I wouldn't approach him with his parents there. You know that."

"Doing the right thing for the one you love sucks sometimes," Clary was staring off into the distance, definitely thinking about a certain blondie that wouldn't admit his love for Project Runway, and Magnus sighed. He agreed wholeheartedly.

And then Alec approached him.

The surprised look on Magnus' face was priceless; Alec wished he'd brought a camera. He got off the wall and a smirk formed on his lips, smug, and cleared his throat. He was dressed in all black, which made the color of his eyes stood out shockingly. He didn't carry any weapon. He looked a more than a little amused. Magnus tilted his head, and in a polite, formal tone, he said, "Alexander Lightwood. What a pleasant surprise." He could feel, rather than see, Maryse and Robert eyeing them with a growing suspicion. Isabelle, Simon, and the werewolf girl were probably gossiping about them right now. His smirk broadened as he saw Alec blush. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you have a partner yet?" Alec asked.

Magnus showed his untouched wrist.

"Okay," Alec said.

Magnus' eyebrows rose. "What, are you not going to ask me to be your partner? Or are you already teaming up with someone?"

"No, no! Never," Alec said quickly. "And I was about to ask you."

"Aw, how sweet of you, Nephilim."

"Shut up," Alec looked agitated, but blush was still evident on his cheeks as he reached for the warlock's hand, fingers slightly trembling as they circled around his wrist. Magnus chanced a look at the Lightwoods. Maryse was glaring at him. Magnus looked away almost immediately; with a shudder, he decided that Maryse was probably the second worst thing in the world, next to Valentine. Okay, maybe she wasn't that bad, but she terrified him. Magnus stared down at Alec, drawing the rune on his wrist slowly, his face intent and hair covering his eyes.

"You know, you don't have to do this for me," Magnus said.

Alec stepped back, admiring his work, before drawing one on his own wrist. Magnus could still feel Maryse and Robert watching them. "I'm not doing this for you," Alec mumbled.

"Oh?"

Alec looked at him and he stared back, and they were having one of those moments again, when words were unnecessary. Alec was usually the one who ended those moments, by looking down at his shoes or pretending to look for Isabelle, but this time, Magnus had to look away because he felt like drowning in Alec's blue eyes.

"Magnus," Alec grabbed his hand, and kissed him, rushed and forceful. Magnus could only stand there frozen like an idiot, and for the first time in centuries, he felt like he was nineteen all over again and falling in love for the first time. The kiss didn't last for so long, but it was enough to draw attention to them.

Magnus blinked. "Your parents are going to have me beheaded. I think."

Alec laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "I wouldn't let them."

* * *

I _definitely_ need a beta reader.

But, phew! You've finally finished this monstrous fic. Please let me know what you think. I'd like to hear your thoughts and opinions, and constructive critics are always welcome! Thanks for reading. :)


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